


Isn't This A Little Soulless?

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Play, Casual Sex, Fluff and Angst, Gym, M/M, Not Beta Read, Smut, Soul Bond, Tattoos, first words from soul mate on wrist, peter is a gym rat, soul mate tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Peter had never wanted a soul mate, and he definitely didn’t want some agency sending him the details in the post. "A different take on the soulmates + wrist tattoo idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was suppose to be a short 1k thing. I just wanted to write about Stiles being such a long winded talker that Peter's tattoo would have to be giant.  
> But I have problems. I felt like by the end this got super OOC but unless I was going to let this become a giant beast of a fic to show gradual change, it had to happen.
> 
> I hope you all like it anyway. (And at the very least, enjoy the porn).

If Peter was going to be very honest, he actually liked his tattoo. The script is particularly elegant, and loopy enough that it’s very hard for people to read unless they’re looking straight at it. He loves the way the Ys flick down and round to join up to the next letter. For a while he couldn’t even make out what the As were supposed to be doing, until he realised they were an affected version of classical typography. Not so common in America. He’s researched it, it was a thing in Europe. Latin and Slavic languages tended to encourage it, so no real clues there.

Not that Peter was looking for clues.

Not everyone had a soul mate tattoo, and not everyone with a tattoo found their soul mate. Four people in his family had, which was common at least in the sense that these things tended to run in families. His sister had gotten one, and as soon as she turned eighteen she’d registered it to the database. It only took a year until she found her mate.

Peter had never wanted a soul mate, and he definitely didn’t want some agency sending him the details in the post.

When the large black band showed up on his arm at fourteen he’d shown his father. Talia bursting in (her tattoo was already peeling away to show letters) and grabbed his arm. “Wow your soul mate must have really big hand writing.”

It was a big tattoo, it covered the majority of his inner forearm. Peter had wondered if this means his soul mate is shouting at him, or just has really messy handwriting. When scraps of black ink begin to fall away, the truth is perhaps more palatable.

He’s never met someone who has a paragraph on their arm before, or since.

But at least it was pretty. Now he was older. More defined muscles, three tattoos of his own choosing on his body, it suited him. He liked it, not because it was a soul mate tattoo, but because it was his. What it _said_ however…

 

_"Hey you, did you just take the last copy of The Evolution of Insect Mating Rituals, because I need to tell you right now, I will fight you for it. I have three days left on my grad thesis, and I'm not going to waste any more time googling what time of night Actias luna moths fuck, because to be honest the porn it reaps is making my eyes bleed, oh wait, never mind it's still here. Sweet. Have a great day!"_

 

Peter is twenty-eight years old and content in never finding his soul mate. He has only recently broken something off with a partner, and is once again enjoying the opportunity to be single. To date, to fuck casually. It was a bit sad to give Tony back all his things, but Peter was mostly glad to be rid of him. A lot of people got… Strange, when they were with someone with a soul mark. They either felt like you were going to leave them at any moment for your soul mate, or that you must be the Settle Down type. They hadn’t proved to be a good match in the end.

Peter had dated a few people with marks of their own. It took the pressure off, when you both knew that really they didn’t mean anything.

He still had a habit of checking out the entomology section of bookstores though. He couldn’t really tell why, he just liked to see if they had a copy of it. Peter had four of his own at home. One a present from Talia, two more that he’d spotted at thrift stores. The fourth was an anniversary edition with an extended introduction from the author. He told himself he bought them so there was one less copy available. Over the years Peter had learnt a lot about moths.

He is in a bookstore now. He’s already confirmed that they had a copy, but has moved on to looking at an anthology of moth wingspans. He’s considering buying it for his collection. On the inside of his right upper arm he has a sketch of a moth inked in. It is currently covered by a long sleeve henley, but he is considering getting another. Maybe something bigger than the Actias luna.

"Hey you, did you just take the last copy of The Evolution of Insect Mating Rituals, because I need to tell you right now, I will fight you for it. I have three days left on my grad thesis, and I'm not going to waste any more time googling what time of night Actias luna moths fuck, because to be honest the porn it reaps is making my eyes bleed, oh wait, never mind it's still here. Sweet. Have a great day!"

 Peter feels like he has ice in his veins, like he’s just taken a step towards a cliff edge and the ground is loose. Can’t go forward, can’t go back. The young man is gesticulating excessively, coffee cup in hand and two books under his arm already. He’s pretty, _of course he’s fucking pretty_ , all dark hair on pale skin. A smattering of moles along his cheek.

 Peter has thought about what he’d say hundreds of times. Planned it exactly. “Excuse me, I have to go.” “This isn’t going to work between us.” “I’m not interested in starting anything.” Although his biggest promise is that he just won’t say anything at all. Refuse to comply with whatever mystical bond they are supposed to have between them. Let the person walk off none the wiser.

 None of that happens.

 "I always thought it was sad how quickly they die."

 It just comes out. It was true, he had thought it thousands of times, and yet none of what he says feels preplanned. Even though he know, _he knows_ , that fate put the words in his mouth.

 The young man had already turned away and is about to walk down the aisle towards the checkout. He freezes, dropping one of the books under his arm. It opens on a page with a picture of the classic film Dracula.

 Peter’s staring at it when the man turns back around. “It’s you.” He says.

 This is when Peter should leave. This is when he should tell him that he’s not interested, and good luck on the grad thesis. He doesn’t say anything however. ( _Great, now you manage not to say anything._ )

 The man isn’t deterred, “I can’t believe it’s you,” he steps forward and Peter has to try his best not to step back. The man is 150 pounds at best, and Peter can bench press more than that, but that’s not what he’s afraid of. He’s worried if he let’s the man closer it’ll give the wrong impression of what he wants from this.

 “I can’t even remember what I just said. You know, three coffees down and the words start flying. I think it was something about a book? Or was it the have a good day? That’s cheerful, more cheerful than mine, not that what you said was wrong. Shit, sorry, I’m screwing this up. Can I look?”

 Peter pulls his arm away from the man’s eager reach. Peter didn’t like anyone trying to look too closely at the tattoo. Something that long inspired a lot of interest from others. “No.”

 “Oh, sorry,” He looks a bit hurt but shakes it off quickly, “do you want to see mine?”

 “I would really rather not.” This was good, he was putting himself back together from the shock.

 “Sure, I guess you already know what you said… I have no idea what I’m doing,” Stiles laughs suddenly. It’s a nice sound, genuine but nervous, and he flashes Peter a look like he must know exactly what that’s like. Like they’re in this together. _They’re not_ , Peter tells himself. “Can I touch you?”

 “No. In fact, I really have to get going.” He almost says ‘have a great day’ but it feels a bit on the nose.

 “Wait!” And Stiles does touch him then. It doesn’t feel any different from anyone else’s touch. And Peter takes that as confirmation of something he’s always known: they don’t mean anything.

 “Look-”

 “My name is Stiles. I mean, that’s what people call me. I’m Stiles, I’m twenty-two. I’m studying at Stanford. I’m single. Shit, are you not single? Are you married? Did I miss my chance?” He looks so sad, and that feels like shit to Peter. But at the same time it makes him angry, why on earth would ‘Stiles’ be sad? They’re strangers, it doesn’t mean anything.

 “This didn’t mean anything.”

 Stiles' face crumples. He’s still gripping onto Peter’s arm, the side without the tattoo. His fingers digging into the material of the shirt hard enough his knuckles have gone white.

 “It’s you, I know it’s you. Are you trying to say it isn’t?”

 “I’m saying that we should let this go.”

 “Did you say it? Look, did you say it?” Stiles let's go and begins peeling back his own sleeve.

 Peter doesn’t want to look. It’s the last thing he ever wanted to see, his own words on someone else. But he does anyway.

 It makes him gasp. Before now Peter had never considered the fact that he pushes so hard on pens an interesting one. He broke his fingers when he was young, and re learnt to hold a pen. All of the movement came back in, it has little to no affect on his life now. He just presses hard.

 The tattoo looks like it was cut into Stiles, and someone had filled the grooves with ink. It’s his handwriting, it’s what his paper looks like when he dashes down a note. He just never thought of what it’d mean on someone else’s flesh.

 “ _I always thought it was sad how quickly they died._ ”

 “It is you.”

 Peter winces, not able to look away now he sees it. “Did it hurt?”

 “No. Well yes. I cut it open when I was a kid. I was so scared that I’d ruined it, but the letters came back all the same. Like this. It’s yours?”

 He gives in, to the truth anyway. There was no pretending now, “it’s mine.”

 Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, okay. Sorry, this is all a bit intense. Can we go somewhere?”

 “Don’t you have a thesis to write?”

 “Shit. Yeah I do. But… Please. Let’s just go somewhere. Do you live nearby?”

 Peter wants to tell Stiles he’s an idiot for wanting to just come back to someone’s place because they’re his ‘soul mate’. But it’s a good idea, now that he’s having this out, it’d be definitely better to do this in private. Especially if Stiles starts crying. He looks like a crier.

 They don’t talk too much on the way there, but it isn’t far. Stiles calls his dad and says that _something came up_ but he’d still come over for dinner later. Peter tells Stiles some basics, his name. His age. That he’s from around here. When they get in Stiles looks around, trying to hide his curiosity but doing a horrible job of it anyway.

 “This doesn’t look like the place of someone who is married.”

 “I’m not married.”

 “Phew, that’s a relief. I was worried I was about to get shouted at by some angry husband… Or wife?” He turns and looks at Peter questioningly.

 “It would probably have been a husband, possibly a wife if the right one came along.”

 Stiles nods, “I’m pretty husband focused myself. I’ve had three die hard crushes on girls though.”

 They sit, and suddenly Peter wants to talk about anything other than the soul marks. “What is your thesis on?”

 “Oh, the predation methods of insectivorous bats.”

 “Ah, hence the dracula.”

 “What? Oh yeah, that book's on the perception of bats throughout human history.”

 “Why did you need the Evolution of Insect Mating Rituals?”

 “Shit! I didn’t even buy it-”

 Peter holds back the urge to give him one of his copies, it would probably say something about them.

 “-er, it’s got a chapter on predators. The Actis Luna has evolved to evade bats, and you know… That’s relevant. Do you really want to talk about bats?”

 “And moths.”

 Stiles laughs, “I don’t know very much about moths. I like them, I like most nighttime things. But I’m a bat guy.”

 Peter doesn’t want to tell him how much he knows about moths. “I have the horrible feeling you’re about to tell me your favourite superhero is Batman.”

 “Right you are!” Stiles says with a smile. He’s gravitated closer and closer to Peter on the couch. Close enough Peter can feel the warmth of Stiles’ near vibrating body through his jean leg.

 “I was always more partial to wolverine.”

 Stiles eyes dilate a little, and his eyes dance up Peter’s body, but landing on his mouth. “You look like the type.”

 “I don’t work out to look like him.” Peter says with a smile, he’s flirting. He lets his legs open a little, and suddenly has the image of Stiles on his knees in front of him sucking his cock. _No one told me how much I’d want to fuck my soulmate. Could have brought that bit up._

 “Why do you work out?”

 “I like to have the upper hand.”

 Stiles kneels on the couch next to him, “Do you want to kiss me? Because… I really want to kiss you.”

 He does. It’s a bad idea, but _fuck_ he does.

 Peter slides a hand around the back of Stiles’ head and brings their mouths together. It’s just a kiss. It doesn’t feel _special,_ there’s no fireworks. Except in his pants, and all the blood from his body is sinking down there. Stiles tastes like sugary coffee, and the way he moans when Peter fucks his tongue inside those pouty lips is definitely helping it along.

 “ _Peter_.” Stiles groans into his lips, sliding closer. Slipping a leg over so he’s straddling Peter’s lap. Peter can’t help but touch him. Slipping a hand up the back of Stiles’ t-shirt, dragging his fingers along the narrow rib cage, and slipping his other hand back down so his thumb drips into the pant line. “Mmhh,” Stiles puts his hands in Peter’s hair so he can kiss harder, and gyrates his hips so the soft material of his burgundy chinos slide deliciously against Peter’s erection.

 Stiles is clearly not a stranger to casual sex, which is good, because Peter really _really_ wants to fuck him. Peter pushes his hand further down the back of Stiles’ pants, two fingers sliding between the cheeks, and hinting at playing with his hole.

 “Yes,” Stiles said, bowing his back every time he slips his hips forward. “Yes, please, yes.” It’s all the enthusiastic consent Peter needs, and dives deeper. The pads of his fingers dragging back and forth over the hole, playing with the ridges so Stiles opens more to him, until he pushes one finger _in._ “Oh fuck, yes, yes. I knew you’d be good at this.”

 Peter laughs at him, brings his arm around Stiles more so he takes the weight ( _there’s a reason why being big and strong is an advantage_ _in the bedroom_ ) and fucks his finger in at tandom with dragging Stiles’ cock back and forth over his own erection. “You’re not _bad_ yourself.”

 Stiles moans loudly. Some of it might be for affect, but it’s part of the excitement. As someone who does most of the work in bed, Peter appreciates a partner who recognises his efforts. Not that they were in bed. This was definitely couch fucking.

 “Okay okay, stop.” Stiles says, Peter let’s him go. Removing his hand from its preferred position and holding his arms away in case Stiles wants to get up.

 His brain whites out a little bit as Stiles arches back off Peter’s lap, his body a perfect curve. _Why is he so flexible??_ Stiles is trying to grab his bag that is just around the side of couch, twisting his body as he leans back as he tries to grab it without removing himself from Peter’s lap. Peter can’t help himself, he puts a hand on Stiles’ sternum and pushes _down_ so Stiles’ shoulders brush the floor and his spine is at an unbelievable stretch. “ _Fuck_.”

 “You like that?” Stiles says, face pink but glowing.

 “How far can you go?”

 “If I told you I can suck my own cock will that make you more likely to put yours inside me?”

 “ _Shit_. Yes. Definitely.”

 “Good. Now let me up so I can grab lube.”

 “And condoms.”

“Sure, and condoms.” Peter ignores the fact that Stiles might have gone ahead without one. Not that it isn’t incredibly hot (and tempting) idea, but they’re strangers. That kind of trust is stupid.

Stiles lifts himself back up again just by gripping Peter’s legs, and it’s so hot he puts his hands back over him. He kinda’ wants to get the man fully naked.

Stiles clearly has the same idea, as he starts putting his own hands up Peter’s shirt. Trying to encourage it up and over Peter’s head. _It’ll reveal his tattoo_ , is the first thing Peter thinks, and his instant response is to say: “No.” Stiles flinches, looking at Peter’s face and then to the arm where the ink is hidden.

 He pinches his lips for a second, before nodding. “Okay, just let me see your abs. Fuck yeah, okay. Worth it. Knew they’d be fucking cut. Shit.” Stiles pushes his hips forward, so he’s now dragging his cock against Peter’s abs, and there’s something so _hot_ and to be perfectly honest _charming_ about how shameless it is, that Peter forgets about the tense moment they just had.

 With the space Peter undoes his pants and feeds his cock out from the gap, jerking it a few times. Stiles turns around to look at it. “Fuck. Everything about you is _thick._ ”

 “Mmhh,” Peter leans forward and bites the line of ligament in Stiles' neck as he turns, “and everything about you is bendable.” Stiles bucks against Peter again, scrabbling to undo his own trousers. Instead of just getting out his cock however, he pushes them down past his ass, as far as they will go with his legs splayed over Peter, and _bends_ so the curve of his butt brushes against Peter’s erection. Peter hisses in response.

 He looks down and glances at Stiles’ cock. It’s a pretty thing, narrow _why is all of you so narrow?_ But not too short, his balls are tight and high against his body, and his tip is very wet. As soon as Stiles starts knocking his erection into Peter’s abs again he leaves precum trains. “Messy.” Peter says with a smile and definitely not a reprimand. Stiles just looks at him like he’s promised him dessert.

 Peter picks up the lube and wets his fingers, sliding them up and down Stiles’ cleft a few times - getting the soft skin behind the man’s balls wet and slick - before finally _finally_ putting them back into Stiles’ hole.

 He pumps two inside, using his free hand to hold open Stiles’ cheeks, and searches for Stiles’ prostate.

 “Don’t, don’t stimulate me like that.” Stiles says breathlessly. Peter can feel it, it’s right by his fingers, one more inch and he could _press._

 “Why?”

 “Because I’ll cum all over you, and I really want to do that while on your dick.” Stiles says with a laugh.

 It’s tempting, it’s really fucking tempting to make Stiles lose it on his fingers alone, but he pulls them. “Alright, dick it is then.”

 He pulls on a condom, and adds more slick to his length, bringing the tip to Stiles' hole. Stiles wants to control the movement, he moves a hand behind him to take it, but Peter bats it away. Instead he pushes a finger into Stiles, dragging the hole open and rubs the tip of his dick around it. Stiles whines, trying to push down, but can’t against the way Peter is holding him back. Only giving him an inch of penetration before lifting him back off again.

 “Peter, _Peter,_ please. I’m going to fucking explode here.”

 Peter wasn’t sure if he was waiting for the begging, but he gives in, and pulls Stiles down on the thick length of his cock. “Fuck, fuck.”

 Stiles starts bouncing on his dick, and Peter lets him for a moment. Enjoying having his length stroked by hot insides, without any effort on his part. In the end though he prefers the control. He puts his hands around Stiles ass, pulls the cheeks open in a way that makes Stiles keen, and uses the leverage to speed up the pace.

 “Fuck! Okay, Peter. Peter I’m going to cum. Fuck!” Peter ploughs him through his orgasm, until Stiles is whining in sensitivity. He makes a snap decision, lifts Stiles off his cock and pushes him back again off his lap pushing the man’s t-shirt up as he goes. Stiles just melts off him, too tired to resist, and flexible to just stretch his body down to the floor.

 “Fucking hell.” Peter says mostly to himself, pulling off the condom and jerking his prick hard until finally _finally_ the white glow of pleasure bolts up his spine. Thick ropes of creamy cum spurts out of him, splattering over Stiles’ soft cock, and down the man’s sloping chest.

 It’s good. It’s really good. It’s the best sex he’s had in forever. _It’s the best sex you’ve ever had._ And the prospect of just cutting off Stiles from his life feels ridiculous in that moment.

 

* * *

 They keep in contact. More that Peter wants, but they see each other. Stiles hadn’t been too happy about being politely told to go after the first time they had sex (if Peter was going to be honest, he wasn’t even that rude to casual hookups) but Peter felt like he had to set some boundaries. They were fucking. They were compatible, and that was great, why not take advantage of it. But that was all.

 In the end Peter had to let a few things go. If it was his choice, Stiles would never read his tattoo. He didn’t want to share it, but there’s only so many times you can fuck someone in your apartment before it becomes a necessity that you do it naked. He knows Stiles has read it, but the man at least tried to be discrete. They haven’t spoken about it, any of it.

 Stiles has tried a few times, but he’s learnt the rules now. And he doesn’t appear to mind too much. The sex truly is fantastic.

 ...There were a few more awkward moments, the longer it went on. Stiles inviting him to meet his dad (“ _No, 100% no.”_ ) asking about his family (“ _it’s not important”_ ) a few all out requests and demands that they go on proper dates.

 Peter thought himself a very fair man, if not always a particularly nice one. He said no, he told Stiles his boundaries for their relationship, and invited the younger man to participate if he so wishes. It wasn’t always a pretty conversation, but it did the trick. After a while he thought Stiles was accepting it. He brought up other things less, tried to keep away negative conversations. Only ever asked for things like staying the night so they could fuck in the morning. ( _“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea._ ”)

 The whole soulmate thing wasn’t quite as bad after all.

 

* * *

 

He had texted Stiles half way through his work out at the gym. There was a guy there he used to hook up with who was flirting with him, and he’d spent the second half of his workout with an erection harder than steel. Peter had hooked up with a few people at the beginning of him and Stiles getting it on, but Stiles had asked to make the leap to no condoms. They hadn’t yet, but in case he feels like it he’s holding off on other people.

 Peter might like a lot of sex, but he was seeing Stiles often enough that cutting out other bodies in his bed was fine. But he doesn't like what going condom free would say about their relationship.

 Peter was home now though, still damp from his post gym shower and hadn’t had a reply yet. Stiles liked phone calls, that much was clear. He didn’t enjoy keeping their relationship to texts, and sometimes would get funny with Peter if the man didn’t answer a phone call. Peter didn’t really want to encourage the behaviour, so held off on calling him, but at this rate he was going to just jerk himself off so maybe a phone call would be worth it. Or he could always go out to a club...

 The buzzer rings.

 “Fucking finally.” Peter hops up and hits the viewer, it’s Stiles, so he hits open for the downstairs door. Peter only lives on the second floor. He unlatches the door and heads back to close his laptop that had some porn on. _Although, maybe they could watch some together… Not now, another time. Stiles would probably like it, he liked anything outside the routine of just sex._

 Stiles slips through the door and closes it behind him, shooting Peter a quick smile.

 “Hey.”

 He’s wearing skin tight black jeans, and a baggy woollen jumper in green. A bit of bony shoulder is flashing at the top where the oversized neckline has slipped down. Peter kinda’ wants to eat him.

 “Hey, glad you could make it.” He slips off the couch and walks towards Stiles. Reminding himself of the time where he fucked him right there against the wall. _We could try recreating it. Peter could always do with more arm workouts._

 Stiles awkwardly puts his hands out, “wait. Can you- shit. Can you just stay there for a second.”

 Peter stops. He doesn’t like how Stiles looks, like he’s kinda’ nervous about Peter coming closer to him. “Sure. Don’t worry about it, I’ll… Sit here?”

 “Yeah, that works.”

 If this is some kind of weird sex thing, Peter isn’t sure he’s on board. Well, his dick is, but he much prefers to be in on (and in control) of what is happening.

 “So, I was going to do this through text. But that’d make me a hypocrite. And then I was going to call you about it, and I realised I didn’t know if you’d even pick up. Which, you know… Is the problem here.” He shoots Peter a look.

 Peter is unsure what expression is on his face, but it is most probably confusion. He doesn’t interrupt.

 “I think at first I was just happy to have you in my life. You had a lot of hang ups about shit I didn’t agree with. But you know, whatever, people have those things. We’d only just met, you know? But… But you don’t want any of the things I want. To be honest you don’t really want me. And I was so deluded because like, you’re my soul mate. So even if it’s hard at first, it has to work out, right? I just gotta’ give it time, do things your way. Have some trust that we’d get there… But I get it now, you don’t. And I’ve realised-” Stiles is crying. It’s probably the single worse thing Peter has ever been right about. That Stiles is a crier. It’s horrific to look at. “-that just because you’re my soul mate, doesn’t mean you’re good for me.”

 Peter doesn’t really know what to say. “So you’re saying… You don’t want to hook up anymore?”

 “Isn’t this a little soulless? Shit, I have a more intimate relationship with my mail man than this.”

 Peter cocks an eyebrow, “I clearly need to swap companies.”

 Stiles laughs at that. It splits open his whole face, like he’s delighted. But it’s ruined when he gives Peter an almost hurt look. Like Peter making him laugh was an unfair blow.

 “Yeah well… It’s not a new mailman I’m looking for. I’m sorry if this was too dramatic for you. I know you hate it when I try and make things messy. I just thought, probably for myself, that I’d… Finish this in an official way.”

 “Finish this?”

 “I got a job offer out of town, It’s not too far, but I think it’s the push I need to call this quits.”

 “You’re finishing this. You came here, to finish this.”

 Stiles toes the floor, “yeah. Sorry, at the end I still managed to break your no hanging out without sex rule.”

 “It’s fine.” It’s not fine. Peter has no idea why he said it was fine. He’s annoyed, really fucking annoyed that Stiles has… Gotten himself all over Peter’s life somehow. That this is clearly something he doesn’t want to happen, not seeing Stiles anymore, and yet Stiles has engineered it that way anyway.

 “I thought it would be. Look, just in case I never see you again. You’re great. Maybe if we hadn’t been soulmates this would have worked, but I’m just not cut out for it. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

 And then Stiles is gone.

 

* * *

 

It takes Peter a year, a whole fucking year to get to grip with what happened.

The first moment took place in a bookstore, as he wandered over to the entomology section and looked to see if they had a copy of the book. They did. He smiled and picked it up to see if there anything different about this one… And then he realised that it didn’t matter. The book didn’t matter anymore. He and Stiles had met, they’d had their conversation. This book was never going to be significant to him ever again.

 He puts it back on the shelf and resolves not to come back to these sections again.

 

The second moment takes place when his google alerts tell him that Stiles’ graduating class at Stanford is having their ceremony that day. He never really pictured himself going to something like that, and definitely not just because someone was his soulmate. But it felt linked. Like Stiles was shedding the bits of him that he was when Peter was supposed to meet him. All this time his soulmate was a grad student, that’s something Peter has always known. And from that day on, he wouldn’t be.

 

The next moment was when he gave in and requested a copy of the thesis from Stanford. There was a charge, but because it hadn’t been published outside of the college, it was minimal. Stiles wouldn’t see any of it, but he kept the name anonymous anyway. Just in case. Peter knew a lot about moths, but when Stiles thesis arrives he learns a lot about bats. It’s a comforting groove to be in, he’s done it before. His heart racing when he gets to the part about their moths. It makes him laugh, at himself. For being a man who is excited to read about moths in an essay about bat predation.

 

The final moment comes after a lot of detoxing Stiles from his life. He feels like he’s almost back to where he was before they met. Maybe better, because at least now he doesn’t find himself stumbling into entomology aisles on the regular.

 Peter has been fucking this guy for a while, they considered making it serious, but decided against it. “I love that you’re not like that.” The guy says, the man’s limbs still threaded between his post coitus.

 Peter is enjoying the ache in his thighs from fucking someone for so long. Sex really is a better workout than the gym. “Like what?”

 “You know, people without marks. They take it to mean that we must be gagging to settle down and get married.”

 Peter snorts, “that or paranoid you’re about to run out on them.”

 “Exactly! Like, I don’t really care if I never meet him.”

 It just slips out of Peter, “I did.”

 “Did what?”

“I met him, you know, with the words.”

 James turns over in the bed and looks straight at him. “And you’re not with him?”

 Peter shrugs, “I didn’t want the soul mate thing, and he did.”

 James hits him. Not enough to hurt him, more like a slap on the chest. “Fuck off! This is me you’re talking to. I get it, most of this stuff is shit. But you _met_ him!”

 “Yeah, and it didn’t work out. I didn’t feel any different for him.”

 “You’re not supposed to feel different! It’s just.. Fuck, Peter, you’re fucked up.”

 Peter rolls his eyes, climbing out of the bed to grab them something to drink. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

 “I know it’s not. But it could have been, that’s the point!”

 

 All of these thoughts creep up on him sometimes. Like little jigsaw puzzle pieces that mean nothing on their own but have slotted together to be a bigger picture.

 Sometimes he thinks about Stiles crying, that at some point in his determination to not be something he didn’t want to be, he became something else he never wanted to be. An unhappy memory for someone.

He writes the letter by hand. _Sometimes he writes out the words ‘I always found it sad how quickly they die’ just so he can see what it looked like_. Peter wonders if perhaps he’s stepping over the line, but then he thinks about all the little things Stiles tried doing to claw his way into Peter’s life, and thinks that at the very least it’s fair.

 Peter has a new number by then, and includes it in the letter, and sends it to where Stiles works. He gets a phone call only three days later.

 “Hello, Peter?” Says the voice at the other end.

 “I forgot how much you like phone calls. Here was I looking out for a text like an idiot.”

 Stiles laughs down the phone. “There’s never enough characters in a text for me. I like to use my voice, things don’t change that much in a year.”

 Peter’s smile falters, unseen through the phone. It’s promising though, for him, he doesn’t need Stiles to change.

 “I was worried that a letter might overstep some boundaries.”

 “I liked it… I wasn’t sure why you sent it.”

 “I’ll be honest, and I wasn’t completely sure myself.”

 “Honesty works. I liked the bit when you said you read my thesis.”

 “It was great, the foot note about your struggles viewing bats in the wild was enjoyable.”

 Stiles snorts, “I originally included a story about me falling in a ditch, but my supervisor made me take it out.”

 Peter laughs, “not the most professional anecdote.”

 “No. But I suck at being professional… Peter, I’m glad you wrote to me. And I’m glad we’re talking… I’ve thought about you a lot but…”

 Peter sighs, he was expecting this. It didn’t mean he had an answer though.

 “...I don’t want to do what we did before again.” Stiles finishes.

 “I’m not asking you to.”

 “Okay. Okay that’s good.”

 There’s a pause. Peter is supposed to be the one who fills it. He doesn’t.

 “What is it that you’re asking me?”

 Peter sighs. “I think I fucked up somewhere.”

 “True.”

 “I remember meeting you and thinking, ‘how am I going to get out of this?’”

 “Um, not gonna’ lie. I don’t know if I want to hear this.”

 “No, it’s important. I was so busy thinking that our tattoos meant that we were going to lose something. Like our lives were being taken out of our hands. We’d met, and now we were stuck together.”

 “I guess I never saw it that way, but I guess I get what you mean.” Stiles voice still sounds slightly distant and quiet.

 “And then you left. You proved me wrong, we weren’t compelled to be together. These tattoos didn’t mean anything.”

 Stiles sighs down the phone, “Peter…Look, I was really fucked up for a while after you. I felt like I must be broken or something for you not to want me. And it took me a really long time to stop feeling like that. I’m not sure if I can go down that rabbit hole again, so I get that you want to say this to me… But I don’t know if I can hear you explain why you didn’t want me.”

 “That’s the thing. I did want you. I just thought it was because I was supposed to.”

 There's a second's pause, and then Stiles quickly rushes out, “What are you saying?”

 “I’m saying that when you left, I realised that these tattoos just meant we had the chance for something.”

 “Peter, what are you saying?”

 “I’m saying I want to try again. I don’t know if it’ll work. Maybe we’re not supposed to be together, but that’s why I want to try anyway.”

 Stiles doesn’t say anything for a while, and it feels like the longest moment of his life.

 “Stiles?”

 “Why were you in the entomology section that day?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “Please, just tell me.”

 “I wanted to know who you were. I wanted to go and look at the things that interested you. I know everything there is to fucking know about luna moths because it made me feel close to you. And suddenly you were there, and it was the scariest moment of my life. Because you were a person, not just an idea anymore. Not something I could get out and play with whenever I wanted, but a person that wanted things from me. I fucked it up. I was so desperate to keep you out of my life, I didn’t realise how much of a gift it might be to be in yours. Stiles, _Stiles_ , if I wasn’t your soulmate maybe it would make sense for you to never talk to me again. And maybe I don’t deserve the chance to prove that I can make this work, since I can't even offer you any promises. But it’s worth the try? Now we’re both in this…?”

 He can’t be certain, but Peter thinks he can hear Stiles cry.

 “I’m scared to want you all over again. I’d convinced myself it was because I cut open my arm when I was a kid. Like I ruined it. Like you didn’t want me.”

 “They don’t mean anything - no don’t get more upset - I mean, they can mean something. But that’s not what makes them work. It’s us. It’s you. It’s how wonderful and brilliant you are, it’s all the pieces of you I have tucked into my life that makes me want you. And that means something more… Can I see you? Not here, somewhere public. Somewhere where all we have to do is talk?”

 “Okay. Okay yes. Yes. I’m scared, but yes.”

 

* * *

 

Another year later and Stiles meets him for coffee at the cafe around the corner from the man’s work.

 “Show me, show me, show me.”

 Peter rolls his eyes at his partner's excitement. “It’s going to look rough, it’s only just finished.”

 “I don’t care. I’ve been literally shaking in my chair all day with excitement. Next time you get one, I’m booking the day off.”

 Stiles peals off the bandage covering the fresh tattoo and gasps. “It’s beautiful. I mean, I still would have gone for the batman logo-”

 “-you would-”

 “But, this is beautiful.”

 It’s a detailed sketch of a bat swooping down to catch a moth. His tattoo artist had looked at him like he was crazy when he brought her the design, but it’d come out great. Even though he could only see it in reverse in the mirror. A shoulder blade tattoo was always more for the people looking at you than for yourself.

 “It hurt like a bitch. It went over a lot of bones.”

 “Worth it though.” Stiles snorts, poking obtusely at the edge of the inflamed skin.

 “Definitely.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a fic where people resisted the idea of being soul bonded with a stranger. I don't know if I did the idea justice, but I like bits of this anyway.
> 
> Kudos & comments make author's hearts sing & make them write more things <3


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